


Standing from the Throne

by divertimentx



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not sure how to tag yet, Overpowered Midoriya Izuku, Pairing undecided, What-If, unbetaed first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divertimentx/pseuds/divertimentx
Summary: In the world of quirks, the heroes of the Throne are a legend. A myth, a history lost and confined to dusty, fictional tales in library books. But if there is one thing Midoriya Izuku wants to be in every life, it is to be a hero.Universes away, a clash spells the end of another war over a golden goblet. The wizard who leaves in the thick of it misses the wisps of a hero’s dream. It travels through the end of the kaleidoscope, and settles in the mind of the child whose dream resonates with its own.Midoriya Izuku wants to be a hero. What better way than on the shoulders of legends long gone?(Story is not Fate universe heavy)
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. A legend untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Izuku dreams, and all of a sudden those dreams are not just in his head anymore.

At eight years old, Midoriya Izuku is an anomaly, given that he has yet to show any visible special power, but is already an intellectual (or nerd, for lack of better term). He sits at his desk quietly, legs dangling off the edge of the seat, shoes scuffing the floor on particularly hard swings. At a slightly more noticeable squeak, the spiky haired blond sitting in front of him glances at the green haired boy. Izuku winces as an eraser pelts his cheek from the far side of the class. The blond’s scarlet eyes dart towards the offending party immediately, tongue clicking in irritation. 

At eight years old, Bakugou Katsuki is constantly looking out for his best friend. His gaze is nothing short of threatening. He clenches his fists, sparks dancing across his palms, crackling and popping in the quiet of the classroom. The teacher’s monotone lecture is drowned out by the sound of blood rushing through his ears. 

“Kacchan.”

The soft-spoken boy’s call of his name makes his boiling rage grind to a halt. He turns, meeting emerald eyes. 

The bell rings, jarring the pair even as Izuku mouths “not worth it” to the short-tempered boy. The room erupts with excited shouts as students scramble to leave the classroom. Katsuki stands, chair scraping against the floor as he stands up. 

“Hey Midoriya! Still quirkless as ever? Hah!”

“Quirkless loser!” 

Izuku scoots his own chair back to mask the sound of growing crackles. 

“You extras! I’ll-“

“Kacchan,” the green-haired boy breathes. “Let’s just go.”“Hah? But Deku-“ 

A brown haired boy pipes up.

“Why do you always hang out with quirkless Midoriya anyway, Bakugou? You always-”

“It’s like you said, Kacchan,” Izuku grins, the innocence and brightness of his smile a stark contrast to the words he speaks next. “They’re extras. We’re going home.”

—

The dreams started at five years old, really. Izuku didn’t make any sense of them until just over a year later. Now the contents were scrawled on paper and pinned to the corkboard in his room, next to an array of hero posters. Each sheet contained greater detail than the last, almost like a progression of his artistic skill. 

The earliest sheet was taped to the top-left corner, before the young boy asked his mother for pins instead.

The word “Ah-lai-ah” was scribbled underneath a drawing of a curve, scattered with crudely drawn crosses that were meant to be swords. 

_Blades, protruding from rust-covered earth, some gleaming under the sunset. Huge, towering gears over the horizon. Tanned, callused hands._

_The whirr of gears turning grated against his senses. The field of view changed, shifting as he(?) walked down the hill. White hair flashes in the reflection of the numerous blades scattered around him. His gaze focused on a pair of blades, one whiter than snow, one black as onyx. The way he picks them up, allowing them to rest in his palm, is stronger than just familiar. It was as though he had lived a life creating them, wielding them, and battling with them._

_The longer he(?) remained there, the more he realized that every blade in sight was engraved in his memory, his history, every sharpened edge was an experience etching itself into his own-_

_He(?) held the handles of the blades tighter in his grip, breathing out a single word, uttered like a curse._

_“Alaya...”_

Next to it was another drawing, this one of a tall, black-haired figure sitting next to a smaller, red-haired child. A semicircle depicted the moon in the background, along with wooden walls suggesting it took place on a patio. It was marked with the words “hero of justice,” underlined heavily with black sharpie. 

_“It was impossible to save everyone,” the older man lamented. “But I wished I could have become a hero of justice._ ”

Every drawing was a dream, an event that was related to a man with white hair, amber eyes, and was dressed in a red open coat. He was almost always surrounded by a wasteland of swords. When he spoke, it was always tinged with sadness, or what his mom said was regret. 

Izuku turned away from the corkboard, glaring down at his notebook. He was missing something, he had to be. 

The street stores in one memory were frequented by the name “Fuyuki.” A cursory search had yielded that Fuyuki had ceased to exist at least 200 years ago, originally located in the Hyogo prefecture, hours away from where he lived in Shizuoka.

The name “Emiya” that decorated the gate to a traditional japanese house had similarly sparse search results. Nothing hinted at the heated combat he had witnessed, nor the powers he had seen the man wield. It was as if he did not exist- no, that he never existed. 

The green haired boy frowns, brows furrowing in thought. The last two hints were similar in nature, and involved people the man had engaged in battle, or rather, what they had said. He re-read the notes on his research.

**G** **á** **e Bolg**

  * Irish for “spear of mortal death”
  * Does not miss(?) blocked by shield
  * Used by Cù Chulainn in legend
  * Irish Mythology, Ulster Cycle?
  * Held by a man with blue hair and red eyes



**Gate of Babylon**

  * Appears as a bunch of gold portals


  * Babylonia? Ancient city
  * Related mythology: Gilgamesh?
  * Used by a man in golden armor. Regal?
  * Countered by “me”



Though sparse, the information was nothing to scoff at. The man he shared his perspective with in the recurrent dreams was either fighting against people who named their weapons after legends, or…

_He had fought living legends himself._

Izuku taps the end of his pencil against his nose as he jotted down the idea, tracing a line under it for emphasis. If that was the case, then “Emiya” had to be a legend. He made swords appear out of nothing but that energy that thrummed through his veins, and fought them on equal footing. Numerous legends must have been lost to history. It wasn’t a surprise that his story was never written. 

Nevertheless, the tale that his dreams told, of this man who dreamed of succeeding where his supposed mentor had failed, was one of tragedy. Izuku had seen him fight in vain to prove his innocence in the midst of a war, and the unseen force that kept his hands moving for an unnamed cause.

A cause that forced him to slaughter thousands to save millions.

 _That’s sad_ , his young mind supplies. 

The green-haired dreamer closes his eyes. 

_But I’ll just have to do even better! I will need to be as strong as-no, stronger than him, and I’ll be a hero that saves everyone._

And he collapses, cheek laying flat across the open pages of his notebook.

—

**_Izuku Midoriya, Age 6_ **

“M-Mom?” 

Izuku’s bare feet plodded against the floorboards as he made his way to the threshold of his mother’s room, verdant eyes brimming with emotion.

“Izu-kun? What’s the matter?” His mother raised her hands, rubbing her eyes and feeling around blindly to click on the lamp. She blinked blearily, feeling the bed shift as her son climbed under the covers and pressed up against her side. His wiry, five-year-old arms wrapped around her as best he could. 

“I had a-another dream.”

Midoriya Inko pursed her lips in concern. She lifted her trembling son into her lap, meeting the gaze of those fearful green eyes identical to her own. 

“What was it about?”

“It...someone d-died, I think. No…lots of people?”

_“You’re a traitor!”_ _  
_ _“You started this all didn’t you?”_

_“Get him out of here!”_

_Izuku(?) was surrounded by flames and fury, pouring off in waves. He cursed, pulling on his restraints, gritting his teeth as someone prodded him with the cold barrel of a gun against the back of his neck. His amber gaze was forced to the floor, gazing at the countless sightless eyes, unmoving bodies, wounds still fresh. The shredded red tails of his coat drifted in and out of his vision as he walked, his path paved by the cold, accusatory eyes of the living. They were weighted stares, heavy against his shoulders, staying his hands as he flexed his fingers, intending to trace his blades. But the guilt was like a mountain, trapping him, immobilizing him beneath its weight._

**_A hero of justice, huh?_ **

  
  


“I-I? I think I also d-” 

“Izuku,” Inko interrupted him, unwilling to hear him utter the word a second time so young. Her son, _her gentle, gentle child_ , burst into confused tears. His sobs shook the bed, staining the sheets with tears even as she held him. He glanced up at her, gaze earnest.

“Mom, i-is the person in the dream m-me?”

She traced a thumb over his cheek, wiping away a stray droplet. If there was anything Midoriya Inko was good at, it was being a mother.

“Let me show you something, Izuku.” 

She set him down on the edge of the bed, taking hold of his hand as she put her slippers on. “Come on.” 

Wide, innocent eyes followed her to the closet, where she flicked the light on and flooded the room with its bright, electrical glow. She stood him in front of the mirror. 

“Look, Izuku,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his dark green hair. He did, staring at the disheveled visage of his sleepy, All Might pajama-clad form, and his mother above him. “What do you see?”

“I see...you?”

“And?”

“Me! I’m in the mirror too.” 

“That’s right, dear,” she smiled, bringing the hand she held up to the mirror and pressing it against the glass. “It’s you. It is still you, Izuku, no matter what dreams you have.” 

The aspiring hero blinked twice up at his mom, and looked back to the mirror, pushing his fingers against it. 

“It’s...me.”

—

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

—

**_Izuku Midoriya, Age 7_ **

The river is shallow. Izuku can tell by the clear image of the rocks beneath the water, smooth from its flow and erosion. The log bridge that went over the stream was slightly damp from the rain the day before, and the green-haired boy eyed the moss on it with a child’s trepidation. 

_Along with the impinging feeling of adult-like caution_.

He takes a careful step back, barely avoiding bumping into one of the older kids, if only on instinct.

“What’s wrong, quirkless? Scared of a little bridge?”

They laugh and jeer, hopping rambunctiously across the log. Spiky blond hair catches his vision and he watches Kacchan follow after him, stepping onto the log. He takes a step, one, then two, the sole of his shoe pressing against a particularly large patch of moss and-

He slides right off the log.

The scarlet-eyed boy lets out a yelp – _I don’t scream, that’s for weaklings_ – landing in the water with a resounding splash. He groans, struggling to find purchase on the slippery stones as he maneuvers himself into a sitting position. His feet only glide on the rocks, jeans now soaked through. 

Izuku is there, digging his feet into the harder-packed soil beneath kicked-aside rocks, knees bent – _never lock your knees, it slows your reaction time–_ and offering a hand to his best friend. Katsuki eyes the hand, reluctant gaze slowly heating with anger.

“I don’t need your help, nerd. I’m not _weak_ ,” he spits out. But Izuku still stands, firmly entrenched in the mud of the stream, emerald eyes gleaming. 

“It’s not weak to want help,” the younger boy replies, hand still outstretched. Katsuki grits his teeth. 

“From a quirkless Deku?” he retorts bitterly, attempting to get up by himself, “Don’t look down on me.”

The water has added enough weight to the fabric of his pants that his shoe slips again on the rocks, landing him in yet another splash. 

“Don’t be stupid, Kacchan,” Izuku shoots back, shuffling as close as his firm stance in the stream will allow. “No one can be in two places at once. Well, unless their quirk allows and they havesomesortofaduplication-gah!” he hits himself with his other hand. “That’s not my point. I’m not looking down on you.” 

“Then what is it?” Katsuki’s face is scrunched up, his expression a mix of childish anger and desperation. 

“You’re my best friend. That means we’re gonna do everything together,” he breathed. “We’re gonna get strong together, become heroes together, and save everyone together.”

“But you-”

“And if I get a quirk you’ll be the first to know,” Izuku’s innocent grin lights up his face like the sun shining down on the two of them. “And if I don’t, well…”

He giggles. Katsuki’s brow rises in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”  
“All those great heroes we read about together in books start off powerless, right? Even if I don’t, you’ll get to laugh at all the enemies we fight when you tell them I’m quirkless.” 

The emerald-eyed boy grins cheekily at his best friend’s flabbergasted expression.

“I-you…” 

Bakugou Katsuki takes a deep breath, like his friend had been suggesting he do before he exploded _–figuratively–_ in every situation. He blushes at the overreaction he nearly had. He finally lifts his hand, soaked hand grabbing Izuku’s by the wrist, letting him haul him out of the water.

The midday air is filled with the raucous laughter of two children, ready to take on the world together.

—

**Present**

“Izuku? Breakfast!”

“...wuh?”

Messy green tufts shift as Izuku lifts his head from his desk, face imprinted with the edge of his notebook. His eyelids flicker and he raises both hands to rub his face–

“Ow!”

–and jabs himself in the cheek with the back of his pencil. It clatters to the ground abruptly as he cradles his aching face. 

“What was that?” His mom shouts from below. He panics before glancing at the clock, breathing a sigh of relief when it reads a forgiving “Saturday”.

“Sorry, just woke up!” 

“Take your time, honey!”

Izuku pushes back from the desk, standing and wincing as his back cracks from the awful position he had fallen asleep in. Yawning, he stumbles his way into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. As he towels the icy water off, he looks up, expectant of another unsightly mark of his night-time “nerd sessions” on his face. Youthful eyes widen as the boy screams.

“MOM!”

—

“With all due respect, Mrs. Midoriya, are you sure your son has not been exposed to anything...out of the ordinary?” The doctor’s brows are arched in surprise. She holds up two x-rays. “The X-rays are exactly the same. He’s eight years old, long past regular quirk development. You’re saying he woke up with his hair and eyes?”

Midoriya Inko nods, turning back to Izuku’s still shell-shocked form. He was staring at his figure in the mirror still, marveling at the sudden changes to his appearance. His verdant hair is streaked with silver-white tufts. It wasn’t even specific strands, it was like someone had painted a couple strokes of snow into his hair. His emerald irises have streaks of amber and gray, glimmering in the light as he turned to peer at them curiously. 

“Now, Izuku-kun, have you discovered anything that you couldn’t do before? Assuming this is your quirk awakening.” The doctor sighs. 

“I...haven’t really tried anything yet,” the boy confesses, but his eyes light up in a sudden realization. “But I did promise Kacchan that he would be the first to know!”

Another long-suffering sigh escapes the doctor, and he runs his hand through his thinning black hair. “Very well. Take your time with the quirk registration, then. It’ll come into his official records once he enrolls into high school. Otherwise, there is no reason to be worried, he is still in perfect health, even if-”

“Quirkless, right?” Izuku stares up at him, eyes twinkling with innocence, – _was that a hint of anger_ – looking completely unassuming. The doctor nods as Izuku hops off the stool and shuffles to the door. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Inko responds. She and her son are on the same wavelength, that tinge of reproach at the man’s dismissal of the magnitude of being quirkless shared between them. 

Izuku was more than familiar with it. Hell, he’d lived it for the past four years. Coupled with the dreams it was enough to make him feel unbearably hopeless at times. But now…

Now he and Kacchan were going to _go places_ . They were going to be _heroes_.

And if Izuku never mentioned that the doctor’s office smelled like antiseptic, tears and a thick cloud of bitterness and roses, then well, the doctor would be none the wiser.

—

“Kacchan! Kacchan ohmygodyou’renotgonnabelieve-”

“Slow down, nerd! What the hell did you do with your hair?” The explosive blond shouts, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. His shake elicits a laugh as his mother shouts from the other room.

“Katsuki, what did we say about swearing!?”

“Fuck off, old hag!”

He ‘s falling over himself in uncontrollable guffaws as his best friend tows him up the stairs and into his room. They both settle down on the floor. 

“So? What’s up, why’s your hair a different color, what happened? Was it the dreams?” Katsuki babbles excitedly, scarlet gaze edging on manic. Their friendly spars were limited to quirkless until Izuku developed his own.

“Well, I figured something out last night…” 

The formerly green-haired boy passes his friend a notebook. He stretches out his hands, a safe distance away from the blond sitting across from him and murmurs.

“ _Trace, on._ ”

—

**[Hero Analysis for the Future vol.7]**

Name: Midoriya Izuku (me!)

Quirk: [unnamed]

Known Abilities: 

  * Manifestation of any weapon (bladed?) through a process called Tracing
  * Analysis of perceived objects (also works better with bladed things?)
  * Enhanced sense of smell, can smell intentions? Personality? Identification
  * Memories from someone that fought against legends?



Restrictions:

[unknown]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Izuku's profile of his own quirk is still incomplete. He's eight! The nature of his quirk will get clearer, though.
> 
> Those who know the fate-verse, you might notice that the memories are a mix of Shirou and Archer. Izuku isn’t taking up the mantle of either of them, he’s intending to use their powers to do what they couldn’t. (What a cinnamon roll)
> 
> Also oops the reference-


	2. What's in a myth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero's backstory continues.

_[_ **_Redacted_ ** _], son of Lug, possessing demigodly speed, strength, and skill. Accidentally slaying the blacksmith Culann’s dog, he devoted himself to making up for the deed, and was given the moniker [_ **_Redacted_ ** _] henceforth. He became a warrior in his early teens, lashing out to prove himself, though his life, filled with glory, would be a short one. His life is thick with war, battle, hardships, nobility,_ **_oaths, and vows_ ** _. His legend, in contrast, is one that remains to that of existence until today._

—

**Izuku Midoriya, Age 8**

“ _Not all men are created equal_.”

The 80% of the world that possessed quirks were undeniably valued over the 20% that did not. But Midoriya Izuku had been patient for long enough. If years of blood and war-filled dreams were the catalyst that he needed to activate his dormant quirk, he would honestly, _gladly_ wait for it. 

_“Trace, on.”_

Izuku thinks his quirk is _amazing_. He opened his hands as energy rushed through him, fleeting and electric, forcing a gasp from his lungs. 

The pair of swords that he had seen _Emiya_ wield in his dreams numerous times were fitted perfectly in his hands. Their black and white blades shone like the sun from behind thick clouds, matte and barely ethereal, yet true presences in his hands. 

They felt... _different_.

“Emiya said...there’s a force against them that makes manifested—no, projected items disappear over time, and that his ability to copy them is limited…” he murmured. “But these don’t feel imperfect...they feel…”

“They seem real as hell to me,” Katsuki cut into his thoughts, making the younger boy blink rapidly as he returned from his musings. “Can I see one?”

Izuku handed him the black blade, grinning when his friend asked what its name was. “The black one’s Kanshou, the white is Bakuya.”

As the explosive boy marveled at the gleam of the blade, Izuku turned his thoughts back to his initial confusion. They were immensely _present_. Even his immature senses could tell that they were somehow complete, their modest presence otherworldly. It was like their legend was perfectly preserved, like he had pulled every ounce of their existence into his world.

_Their world?_

“Of course!” he jumped up. Katsuki looked up, scarlet eyes curious as his friend reached an epiphany. 

“What is it, nerd?”

Katsuki was privy to almost every detail of the dreams Izuku had recounted from his note-board ever since the stream incident over a year ago. The blond’s opinion of his best friend being a nerd was only reinforced by the research they had done together on the supposed mythological figures. Still, it was Izuku who did most of the strange philosophical thinking. 

“My dreams, _Emiya’s_ memories, are from a world where these weapons already existed! When he makes them he’s basically overriding and re-creating them in a place where they already have an existence!”

Bakugou Katsuki’s blank stare speaks **volumes** . It is only through sheer force of will and a year or two of his best friend’s pestering that he doesn’t explode ( _figuratively_ ). 

_Real heroes don’t get super angry all the time, Kacchan! You can’t let villains get you angry!_

He breathes in, counting to ten.

“Deku…”

“Okay, okay!” Izuku bites his lip, pacing the room briefly. He misses Kacchan’s baffled expression as the white sword leaves his hand, spinning in the air and is caught perfectly in his outstretched palm. Being eight years old had no effect on his ridiculously intellectual thought processes.

Especially when it came to heroes.

“It’s like...these swords are real in our world, where we are. _Emiya_ didn’t exist here. The legends are just stories here. Stories people forgot or don’t know.”

“Yeah…?”

“But in _Emiya’s_ world he existed. These swords existed and those legends were already made into real things. That’s why they were ‘imperfect’.” He punctuates the word “imperfect” with air quotation marks like bunny ears on the sides of his head.

It is Katsuki’s turn to blink. 

“So…?”

Izuku hums, his eight year old mind, reinforced by a grown man’s memories, fumbling to find a proper analogy.

“It’s like...if I put two Kacchan’s in a room, what would they do?”

“I’d fight me,” the boy in question growls. “I would so fight me.”

“Right. So if there’s an image of these swords in Emiya’s world already, but not one here…”

“They don’t fight,” Kacchan realizes, small sparks flying off his hands in excitement. “That’s...kinda cool, nerd.”

“Thanks, Kacchan,” Izuku beams. Katsuki shields his eyes with his free hand.  
“Hey, don’t let that get to your head! You’re still a dumb nerd, I’ve beat you a bunch of times-” 

They both fall silent as steps can be heard ascending the staircase.

“Boys? Are you alright?” Bakugou Mitsuki hollers.

“Y-yeah!” They call in sync.

“Are you sure? It got awfully loud up there-”  
“We’re fine!” The green-and-white-haired boy replies, eyes widening as his voice comes out just higher pitched than he intended.

“Alright, I’m coming in with some snacks-”

“Shit!” Scarlet eyes turn back to the decidedly cool yet definitely dangerous black sword in his hand. “The old hag’s gonna kill me if she sees this!” 

“I-uh-” Izuku’s expression grows panicked as he holds the white blade. 

“Make them disappear!” Katsuki whispers urgently, glaring at the door, and back to his friend.

“I don’t know how?” Izuku squeaks, still gripping the handle tight.

“Just...wish them away or something!” Katsuki waves his hands around, palms decidedly sweating and the smell of burnt caramel fills the air. Izuku can smell the apples and the Bakugou matriarch’s distinctive gardenia shampoo. “Hurry!”

He grabs _Kanshou_ from Katsuki’s hand and abruptly drops both swords as the door opens. As they hit the ground, they vanish in a blue-white flash of light. 

Mitsuki stares at the pair of panting boys, looks about the still-clean room, and raises an eyebrow. 

“What were you two up to?”

Katsuki hastily elbows Izuku before the younger boy can give them away. His mother looks at them, then at the rug, which had a shallow, yet definitely present gash. Both children swallow audibly.

—

  
  
  


**Izuku Midoriya, Age 10**

His mother is quietly staring at the television screen. Izuku looks up from his storybook, the one he’s read numerous times. The cover is etched swirls and characters in dark blue leather.

He glances at his mother. Inko has looked away, her back towards Izuku’s questioning gaze. His eyes focus on the text reading across the screen. 

“...large-scale hero-villain fight causing collateral damage in X district…” 

“...listed are the civilian casualties…”

“Izuku, honey…” 

Midoriya Inko is wrapping her arms around her son, tears pouring from her cheeks as though flowing from a stream. Izuku’s hands make their way to his mother’s embrace, brushing against the cover of the book as he pushes it away. He clutches the sleeves of her shirt, and cries. 

—

**Izuku Midoriya, Age 6**

A deep, baritone voice reads from the antique pages. Izuku squirms in his seated position and the voice laughs.

“Listen well, my little wolf. Cu Chulainn was an old, old hero, but he fought to protect his home always.”

The child struggles once more before huffing and settling on the rug.

“Did he make mistakes?”  
“Oh yes. He accidentally hurt the blacksmith’s dog, once. He had to make up for it by working for him for a while. That’s why he is called ‘hound,’ of the blacksmith.”

“So where’d he get the spear from?” 

The man reading strokes his beard and flips a few pages ahead to point at an illustration of a young man fighting against another.

“Ah, that is from the competition with his friend, over the legendary spear, Gae Bolg.”

“Is he strong?” 

The man nods seriously. “One of the strongest. Do you want to be that strong, Zuku?”

“Yes! I wanna be strong enough to protect you and mom!”

He raises his brows, a teasing smile at the corner of his lips.

“You promise to work hard?”

“Yeah!”

The phone rings. The man closes the book, placing it in Izuku’s hands.

“Take care of it, now.” 

A hurried, urgent conversation. Inko descends the stairs to sigh as the man puts his coat on.

“Leaving already? You haven’t even been here a week, Hisashi.”

“I know, love,” he breathes, pecking his wife on the lips. “But Alexandria's work waits for no one.” 

“Be safe!” 

“Bye Daddy!”

_But Midoriya Hisashi does not return._

—

**Izuku Midoriya, Age 13**

There’s a nagging feeling in his chest. Izuku does his best to ignore it, but his instincts suggest otherwise. It’s the kind of feeling that sticks, the kind that grates against his senses.

The dreams haven’t stopped yet. If anything, they got more detailed. The more he practiced with Emiya’s strength the more he could feel his senses change. The stronger sense of smell had only been the start. He’d picked up his fighting style, learned how to cook, and now…

That acute, nagging sense that forced him into alertness.

He glances down at the notebooks in the shopping bag at his side (he filled at least one every month now), then back up to his mother’s kind, smiling face. Kacchan is to his right, his nose buried in a new hero comic book. 

Izuku smells the sulfur first, then the scent of tar. He feels the heat barely a second after as he grabs his mother’s hand, then Kacchan’s arm, to avoid the small explosions of surprise as the explosive blond’s eyes see the commotion blooming before them. 

“Get down!” Someone shrieks. Izuku collapses to the floor on instinct, towing his mother with him as Katsuki braces himself against the floor. The mall shakes violently, the lights flickering, cracks running and splintering the concrete walls. It feels like the ground is _heaving_.

Glass crashes down on the floor in front of him like rain, and he can see two shadows fly over their huddled forms. Izuku hazards a look up to see where they landed and winces at the sight.

The villain ( _definitely a shockwave quirk, wouldn’t have made such quick work of the windows in the mall otherwise)_ , standing against the west wall of the mall, is in better shape than the hero, who sports cuts from the glass of his broken visor, blood trickling down the side of his head. The helmet had a fin on the back– _water quirk? Oh, Manual–_ which was also slightly cut up. 

Izuku’s mind whirled. He didn’t doubt Manual had combat skill, but he needed a source of water since he couldn’t generate it on his own. His eyes darted to the fountain behind the villain, then up to the extensive sprinkler system above them. 

“Kacchan.”

Scarlet eyes swiveled to fixate on the green-haired boy. 

“Can you make smoke? Like we talked about. We need those sprinklers to go off.”

Water would diminish the impact of the shockwaves and help Manual restrict the villain. The older boy nods silently, eyeing the villain, before crawling towards his objective. They were in an alcove, just barely close enough to the smoke detector along the main indoor plaza. 

The annoying, nagging sense tugging at his attention makes him bristle as Katsuki lets the small stream of smoke float up into the air. Inko glances at her son, gaze questioning. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief at his mother’s calm visage.

The smoke detector beeps three times and water showers every mall occupant. The villain screeches in irritation as Manual deftly manipulates the water from behind the fountain and on the floor to bind his limbs. The man struggles, managing to slam his hand against the wall, sending another rippling shockwave up the western wall, right towards the already cracked third-level floor, and the four screaming civilians standing upon it. It shudders, and Izuku can see the fragments of the concrete begin to crumble. 

In the split second the floor begins to fall, Izuku’s mind works itself into a tizzy. They are situated by the eastern wall. If he were to try _reinforcement_ it wouldn’t be fast enough to maintain the structural integrity of the floor, nor could he reinforce himself well enough to catch four people at his age. He could make swords, but those wouldn’t help the stability and their trajectory was too wide to be able to pin any of the bystanders to something stable. No, he needed something with a small area of impact but faster than anything else he had in his arsenal. Emiya’s memories flit through his thoughts, but nothing suggested Emiya was fast enough to-

_Wait. Classes. Emiya isn’t the fastest class. The fastest class is–_

**Lancer**. 

The memory of his father reading him the story of Cu Chulainn hits him like a train as the pieces of the second floor opposite him continue to fall. 

_Think, Izuku, think. What does Cu Chulainn do? He protects. He is a staunch defender of his people, he is fast, he is an honor-bound warrior, and–_

**_He always keeps his promises_ ** **.**

The rush of energy in his veins makes him gasp. He stretches his arm out, a streak of crimson appearing in his hands. It singes phantom nerve endings, its strength palpable even though he doesn’t call out its real name. On sheer instinct, he stabs the end into the floor. 

Crimson spears erupt almost instantaneously from the far wall, catching each of the civilians by the backs of their shirts. It suspends them against the wall where the sharp end protrudes from the fabric of their clothes. 

“What the hell? Deku, what-” 

Katsuki stares at his friend, eyes wide. Beside him, Midoriya Inko has her hand raised to cover her mouth. The white strands of Izuku’s hair have turned a rich shade of dark blue. His eyes, now speckled with crimson, are glazed over, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggles to keep the spear in existence, the very effort taking every ounce of his concentration. Within minutes Manual has successfully inpacitated the villain. He glances over, only suffering a brief moment of shock before he spins, carrying as much water as he can with him, safely cocooning the suspended civilians with the water he wields. 

His hands tremble. The red, glowing spear sticks to his palm just a moment after he lets go, the protrusions from the wall sliding back and disappearing, depositing the civilians in the water. 

The backlash hits him just as hard as his prior contemplation of _Lancer’s_ abilities. The first cough rips out of his chest and his vision goes awry like static. He’s only barely aware of the crimson liquid that coats his confusedly raised hands as his awareness fades.

“Izuku? Izuku!”

“Deku!”

––

“ _A myth is a written thing, documented and told generations after its creation. While not every myth has a moral, the characters described within them always have a goal and a personality. Thus, the myth is a story of a legendary figure’s pursuits.” –Archival Notes in the Library of Alexandria, 2080_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given Izuku quite the convoluted power, haven't I?  
> Apologies for the sporadic updates but I don't quite have a handle on my muse yet. Will be doing my best to bring content!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is the very first fic I have written, ever, and I really created this since the plot bunny in the back of my head wouldn't keep asking me "what if Izuku has the power of the one who wanted to be a hero so badly?"  
> Constructive criticism and encouragement appreciated! It is really a self-indulgent concept, so let me know if it's worth continuing :)


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